Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
I see you shiver with contemmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmplation!
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| Ah, were would we be without Mistress Eleise de Lacey, eh? I mean, my sheets would be a lot cleaner, just for a start. |
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| Yes, that would work. |
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| Goodness, there she is again. How does she do that? Unless she has a twin… |
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| If the examining officer can still bend her elbow, the search isn’t complete. |
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| Oh, sometimes one should just give in to temptation. |
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| Or the one before that. |
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| I like to leave these details to my wife too. She’s better at that sort of thing. |
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| Return of an old friend. |
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| On the plus side, they do get lots of great shots of dommes looking really pissed-off. On the minus, a lot of expensive cameras have been smashed. Oh – and the photographer’s been hospitalised once or twice too. |
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| Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime experience, huh? |
…it’s just something she likes me to do from time to time.
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| Strictly speaking, that’s probably against school rules. I mean, it’s not as if the chalk’s her property, after all. |
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| It’s up to you whether you sign of course – and feel free to take your time. She can always do you after lunch, if you can hold out that long. Not a problem. |
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| Thank you. Ahhh. |
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| That sounds very fair. |
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| Glad to be of service. It’s the highlight of my month, actually. |
…is there ever any other reason?
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| It’ll help take your mind off the pain, while you’re waiting, anyway. Nothing like ‘more pain’, to do that. |
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| How exciting! I wonder who it is? |
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| It’s good to talk these things through. And then to smack them out. |
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| You’ve either seen the movie or you haven’t. |
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| Can’t stop staring at.. the …gloves…! Oh, er, right! Dinner. yes, right away. |
Now, my dear prisoner, I have good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?
The bad news? Yes, I suppose that’s a good idea. Hear that first, to get it over with.
Well, the bad news is that the rest of your life is going to be spent down here, and it is going to be utterly miserable. Your hands will stay cuffed behind your back like that forever, and the hobble chain between your ankles isn’t going away either. You won’t be able to stand up, or even crawl, but you should be able slowly to wriggle around, like a maggot, to get across this cold stone floor. You can scream and shout if you like. No one will hear you. Not even me, and there’s no one else for miles around.
There’s more bad news too. In a moment I’ll be leaving, and I’m going to switch off the light and close the door. So it’ll be pitch dark down here – you’re now in the last few moments of light that you’ll ever experience.
That’s right – look at me. This is the last time you’ll ever see anything. Remember me.
More bad news, I’m afraid. You’re going to die down here. But not immediately. There’s plenty of water and I’ve left some piles of food around. Some of the food’s fresh, so if you can find it, as you inch around in the dark, I’d eat that first, as otherwise it’s going to start rotting. But there’s quite a lot of dry food that should be edible for a few months.
But then that’s it. One day, you’ll be painfully wriggling across the floor in the dark; sniffing and licking wherever you go to try to find more food, and there just won’t be any left. But of course, you’ll never be sure that you’ve found it all, so you’ll probably keep trying, as you get weaker, hopelessly dragging yourself back and forth trying everywhere in this pitch black cellar, until you starve to death – alone, in the dark, with no one to care.
So that’s the bad news.
The good news? Oh – erm, yes, now there was some good news. What was it? Goodness, it’s completely slipped my mind. Oh I don’t suppose it matters. Whatever it was, I’m sure it didn’t really concern you anyway.
Goodbye.
So I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try out Graham’s invention. Of course, you can’t see, because it’s behind you and you’re strapped so very tightly across the whipping block. But back there, the mechanical arm holding the cane is fully retracted, so the machine’s ready to strike. When it does, the electric motor drives a small wheel into rapid motion, increasing tension for a second or two, before the arm is released and the cane lashes across your bottom.
It’s that little delay that makes it work, actually. Poor old Graham kept on trying and trying to propel the arm immediately to make the stroke, but you can never get enough force to get it to lash at the speed you need for a proper impact. It took him ages to find a solution. I was getting quite frustrated actually – he was probably getting more strokes from me manually than he was testing each day on the machine. But that delay lets the speed build up and then – whoosh, and it cracks across your buttocks. So you’ll hear a little whir for a second or so, before you hear the cane whistling through the air. I’ve asked him to work on that whirring sound – it would be better if there weren’t any warning. I’m sure he’ll be able to sort it out, with the right encouragement from me. Still – it canes hard and that’s the main thing.
So after the stroke it winds back again, going a little bit up or down so it doesn’t keep caning the same spot. Graham himself suggested that little feature, actually, after the first time I tried it on him. Twelve on exactly the same spot makes you ever so sore. He started work on the vertical motion straight away after that! Anyway, I can set it to go steadily up or down, or just let it go randomly.
Oh, you’ll find out. The pattern should be clear by stroke three or four or so.
I’m so pleased with this. I mean, I’m not going to stop caning boys manually, obviously! But sometimes it’s nice just to hand the job over. And there’s something quite relentless and brutal about being caned by a machine… the way it just keeps going, no matter what you say or how piteously you cry or scream. I mean, so do I of course, but boys still always start making a fuss after a while, in the hope that I’ll go easy on them. Boys can be so stupid. Well, this machine takes that hope away.
You look worried! No…maybe worried isn’t the right word. You look terrified. Well, so you should. You’re getting twelve, good and hard – and I’ve already programmed them in. Nothing you can do.
But you know, I haven’t told you about the cruellest feature yet. Do you want to know?
I can programme the speed. It can go at any speed I like. So what do you think is about to happen, hmmm?
What?
No. Oh for goodness’ sake. You boys are so unimaginative. You think that the worst thing I could do to you is to make it go as fast as possible? Twelve strokes in quick succession – THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK?
Well, it could do that. And obviously that would be sheer hell – it would certainly make you scream. But that’s not what I’ve done. Quite the opposite. Can’t you guess?
Between now and – oh about nine o’clock tonight – you’ll receive twelve strokes. It’s just gone noon, so that’s about one every 45 minutes. But they won’t come regularly. The intervals have been set to be random – anything between 30 seconds and two hours. You will get all twelve – you can depend on that. But you’ll never know when the next one’s coming, as you wait there hour after hour. Until you hear that little whir anyway… then you have a second or so to brace yourself. It’ll be so much better when Graham’s sorted that out…
Yes, you see? I thought you would. It’s much worse than getting twelve all at once, isn’t it?
Do you think the randomness makes it worse? I wasn’t sure about that. I like the thought that you’ll be on edge for all of that time, never knowing when – or precisely where – the next stroke will land. But on the other hand, it might be nice some time to try spacing them evenly – say, one every hour. And you could have a clock in front of you, watching the seconds counting steadily down. Or no clock, and you’d be frantically estimating whether the hour is nearly up. Maybe we’ll try that next time.
Hmm? Oh, we’ve already started. I switched it on about five minutes ago. Every five minutes you have about a one in nine chance of a stroke. It could have happened already. But it didn’t. It will, though. That’s certain: you’ve still got all twelve to go. It could happen any second… or not for almost two hours… it’s just up to that little microchip. Out of my control anyway, and certainly out of yours.
Hmm? Yes, I know it’s cruel. I am.
Anyway, it’s not much of a spectator sport, so I’m going to go about my day and leave you to it. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving the house, so I’ll be able to hear you scream from time to time. You’ll be quite secure here, though. And if you start to feel thirsty – and I think you will, if you keep sweating like that, or if you start crying – just remember that it’s supposed to be a punishment and you deserve it.
See you.
Oh – you know, I just had a thought. Maybe instead of designing out the little whirring sound, Graham could design it in! So that – I don’t know – about five times out of six or so, there’s the sound but no stroke. Wouldn’t that be fun? I’ll have to have a word with him.
Enjoy the rest of the day.
Normal service is now resumed. And I can use the letter ‘i’ and everything.
Impalas! Intrepid! Vicissitude! Inimitable! Mississississississipipipipitipie!
Oh god, that felt good.
On we go.
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| It’s not a good idea to make her cross. |
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| That’s right, Dave. Stand up for yourself, mate. |
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| Oh, it’ll be OK. Everyone has to start somewhere. Big whip, huh? Small room… |
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| I asked my SO for a regular date to be fixed for my masturbation day. She chose 29th February. She can be cruel like that. |
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| Yeah, don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s her job. (joke copyright the Addams Family movie. It’s better when Angelica Houston says it.) |
